


Just Like Alice

by GraveVyxen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:31:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraveVyxen/pseuds/GraveVyxen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jefferson notices all the ways Grace reminds him of her mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like Alice

**Author's Note:**

> TITLE: Just Like Alice  
> CHARACTERS: Jefferson, Grace, Alice Liddel (mentioned)  
> PAIRINGS: implied past Jefferson/Alice  
> NOTES: I don't really know why, but I just NEEDED to write this today. (Also, mentioned that Alice was 16 when she married Jefferson.)  
> DISCLAIMER: Not my characters. Never happened. All made up in my mind.

_One_

As soon as Grace could walk, Jefferson knew his daughter was special. He knew she would be going places. And he knew that he could never love anyone more than her. Ever.

Not after Alice. Never after Alice.

He remembered setting her on the floor, in that silly blue dress that he'd fashioned after the one her mother had liked ( _of course, blue, blue was the color he associated with Alice_ ), the first dress he'd ever seen her in when she was nine and she'd found her way into his little tea party.

Jefferson had taken a few steps backwards, squatted down on that filthy floor in their tiny hovel, and held out his hands. "Come on, Grace. Come to papa, you can do it." He encouraged her.

And when Grace had slowly pushed herself up, when she'd gotten her shaky little legs underneath her, and wobbled over to collapse into his arms, she'd grabbed a lock of his hair ( _it's getting long, Jefferson, darling, you should let me trim it for you_ ) and gave it a tug.

Jefferson, for his efforts, tried not to read into it. Tried not to notice the way she wrapped the hair between her pointer and middle fingers, twisted it around them, and laughed as she released it back into place, tried not to see Alice in his mind's eye, the way she used to pull on his hair the same way, even as a child when he'd only just met her. He tried, valiantly, not to notice.

But notice, he did. He saw the enjoyment in his daughter's lovely blue eyes ( _so much like yours, Alice, she looks just like you, she has your eyes and your chin and your muchness_ ) and he could hear her mother again, like she was in the room with them, praising Grace, even as he stumbled over words to tell her how well she'd done.

And that night, when Grace had pressed herself into his side to keep warm in their drafty little home, Jefferson held her tightly and thanked Alice, again, for giving him this precious piece of her for him to hold on to, now that she was gone.

_Two_

The next time he sees it, Grace is three, and she gets into everything. She's got her mother's curiosity ( _all children are curious, Jefferson, they all do these things, you know they do_ ). He's caught her more than once digging through his things, and then she finds it. The tea set, the one that Alice's mother and father had given them on their wedding day. The one that Alice grew up with. Perfectly white ceramic with blue accents; a large pot, seven cups with eight saucers ( _Alice had dropped the eighth cup when her water broke in Wonderland, when the card knights had stormed into their home and induced her labor early, arrested her and Jefferson_ ), a chipped creamer, a sugar bowl with a cracked lid and only one handle.

"Papa!" Grace had smiled and held up a cup. "We can have a tea party!"

And Jefferson had to take a moment, had to breathe deeply and make himself smile. Because her smile was Alice's, down to the up-curve of her lips and the dimples in her cheeks. "Yes, Gracie. We can. If you want to." ( _Because Alice would encourage it, because Alice always loved tea parties, and it had been so long_ ).

Grace had let out a happy giggle, and she and Jefferson set out the tea set. She'd taken the time to arrange her stuffed animals around the table, as well, because a tea party 'simply couldn't be a tea party without guests'. And where did he remember that from? ( _Well, Jefferson, it's not much of a party without friends to share it with, is it?_ )

And, so what if he had to turn away when his daughter leaned over to talk to her stuffed turtle with one eye and a mismatched front leg about the importance of having muchness ( _and where had she learned that word from anyway? He hadn't used it in so long, not out loud, nowhere but his own head_ ) to shake away the image of a nine year old girl in a pretty blue dress? A sixteen year old woman in the same spot, smiling at him with a ring on her pretty finger?

Grace hadn't noticed in the slightest. And if she did, well, she never said a word.

_Three_

Grace was five when Jefferson finally allowed her to stand on her own feet in the forest with him while they collected mushrooms. Until then, he'd either carry her on his hip or ask the neighbors to watch her. Mushrooms were no way to make a living (w _hy don't you just sew, Jefferson? It's the only thing you're good at, Alice would be disappointed._ )

He'd almost had a heart attack when he stood after picking from a patch of mushrooms to find Grace gone. His head snapped around every which way, heart pounding, as he called her name. She couldn't be far, she couldn't, where would she have gone?! ( _Jefferson, you were supposed to be watching her!_ ) He could feel his insanity bubbling to the surface quickly, out of fear, out of panic. And then, there was a small giggle, and he could see the hood of her warm cloak above the foliage. She was crouched on the ground.

Jefferson had to wipe tears from his eyes as he raced to her side, dropping his basket of fungus in his haste to hold her to his chest. "Gracie, my Grace." He'd murmured between rushed, painful breaths. "Why did you do that? What were you thinking? Papa told you to stay at his side!" ( _Don't scare her, Jefferson, darling, she was curious, you cannot punish curiosity._ )

Grace had a mind to look properly apologetic as her hand fell to his cheek ( _just like Alice did, just the way she tried to calm him when his madness was threatening to come to the surface_ ), and she patted at his face. "It's alright, Papa." Her voice was much older than five years, she was always sounded so adult when she spoke to him, as if it was Alice there. Logical, intelligent Alice, who could talk him down with a few words, even on her first trip to Wonderland. "I saw a rabbit, I wanted to see where it would go, that's all." ( _Of course, a rabbit, only a rabbit, it would be the only thing to distract his daughter in the forest._ )

Jefferson had scooped her up then, and his fallen basket, to march back to their small home. His stomach still felt sick from the thought of losing Grace, his only tie to Alice now that she was gone, and he couldn't even convince himself to go back out for more mushrooms ( _not that he liked mushrooms, anyway, they reminded him too much of Wonderland_ ).

_Four_

When Grace was six, she started to make up wild stories. They started out believable, until the animals started to talk, or the scenery would rearrange itself, and once, when she mentioned a cat who could disappear into nothing, Jefferson began to worry that she'd found his hat, and travelled to Wonderland on her own. He'd actually had to check the chest he'd hidden the hat in ( _and of course she hadn't been in there, he kept the key on him at all times, and she never once asked about that chest because she knew it made him unhappy_ ) to make sure it hadn't been touched.

But still Grace told her tales, and made wild statements about the world around her, and Jefferson grew to love listening to her ideas. ( _So much like her mother, so excited_.) It was one morning that he came to find her drawing on a scrap of fabric with her dirt-smudged finger, excitedly babbling to herself.

"What is that you're saying, sweetie?" Jefferson had leaned down to kiss her hair.

Grace had looked up proudly, pointing to her picture. "I want to go here, papa!" The dirt covering the fabric almost resembled a landscape, but Jefferson couldn't quite pinpoint what the lines were supposed to be. "It's the world I made up!"

The statement stopped Jefferson in his tracks, and he had to swallow and shake his head ( _if I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't_ ), Alice's smiling face appearing once more in his mind. "You made it up?"

Grace had nodded, smiling, as she motioned at the drawing. "Animals would be able to talk, and there would be fun things to do all the time. And tea parties! Lots of tea parties!" She rested her head against Jefferson's bicep and giggled softly. "You could come with me, papa. We'd have so much fun there!"

And Jefferson had to return her smile sadly. "Of course, baby." He finally stood. "I...need to go collect mushrooms today. Do you want to come with me?"

_Five_

Grace was nearly eight the first time she'd asked to sit with him while he sewed. He was so nervous to have her watch him work, wanting to be sure that he didn't show her the wrong way to make a hem, or sew the sleeve of a new cloak for her to wear on upside down, that he hadn't even noticed the way he'd been holding his shears ( _and really, Jefferson, darling, those shears are much too big to be sewing with, you'll hurt yourself!_ ) until it was too late.

Grace had been the one to gasp when the blade cut into the soft skin between his index finger and thumb, and she'd been the one to pull his hand away from the fabric before he'd stained it with blood. ( _Fabric is too expensive to come by these days to be stained, he needed to be more careful._ )

Jefferson was the one who sat, confused and shocked, watching as the blood collected and began to drip onto their tabletop. He'd never been good at this, never been able to think hard enough in the moment to fix anything ( _Alice had always done that, she'd always dressed his wounds when he hurt himself, because his brain was too disconnected, too broken_ ), but Grace must have inherited Alice's calm as well, because the next thing he knew, her small hands were wiping up the cut with a damp cloth. He'd looked over at her while she was at it, smiling when he saw her little tongue poking out of her lips.

And then, it was with shaking fingers that she picked up his needle, and began to stitch the wound shut with careful strokes. "It's alright, papa, there's not much blood." Grace tried to lie ( _of course there was a lot of blood, it was a large cut_ ) and grabbed for the hem of Jefferson's shirt to tear of a strip. She wrapped it around his stitches and his wrist to secure it. "There you are. Good as new." Her tiny lips pressed against his bandage. "And a kiss to make it better!"

Jefferson lowered his eyes at that, because all he saw was Alice, dressing many of his wounds over the table of their Wonderland home. Alice, her eyes smiling as she kissed each bandaged wound with a soft touch. ( _There you are, Jefferson, darling, a kiss to make it all better again_ ). "Thank you, sweetie. Maybe we should skip sewing today. How about a tea party?" If he sounded sad, Grace didn't ask.

Grace nodded and began to put away his supplies while he took out Alice's tea set ( _only the best for my little girl_ ) and set it at their table.

And when she came back, she was wearing Alice's smile.


End file.
